A Time of Need
by Such Curiosity
Summary: When Peter and Elizabeth go away for some lovey-dovey time, the handsome Neal Caffrey is left with Satchmo. However, what Peter didn't see was Neal's brewing illness. Welcome home Peter!


**Hey guys! A little while ago a plot bunny hopped itself into this, so I hope you enjoy! **

"Did you feel that?" Neal asked Satchmo when he felt a drop of water splash into his forehead. The dog sat panting by his legs, giving no indication of feeling anything. Neal shrugged and nuzzled into his coat collar a little more as he shivered and sputtered out a light cough. It wasn't exactly the coldest night and Neal wasn't sure why he was so cold. Many were running around with light jackets, but Neal was still in his winter coat. He decided to take Satch for a walk to the park after Peter left for wherever it was they were going. Peter and Elizabeth deserved it. It'd been a very tough week at the office with extremely late nights. Neal was still plagued by a cold he'd had for the last few days. His eyes tugged with a dull ache behind them, massaging the sand man's dust into Neal's muscles. Neal yawned, reaching down from the park bench he was sitting on and petting the dog's golden fur. Then the peaceful trance the dog provided him snapped back with the feeling another drop hitting his skin…and another…and another. Soon the image before him was muddled together as light blurred through the thickening curtain of an emerging rainstorm. Satchmo whined ever so lightly and blinked against the wetness clouding his sight. Neal jumped up, turning briefly at the dog.

"Told you I felt something." He commented as they started back for the apartment. Neal trotted down several blocks back the way he came. By the time the two had reached June's again Neal's clothes and hair were soaked. Satchmo watched eagerly as Neal unlocked the door to the empty apartment (June took a holiday to visit her daughter). Neal shuffled quickly inside, letting out a heavy shiver against the chill of the night. He looked down at Satchmo and coughed again.

"Don't get June's floor all dirty." Neal said and the dog looked up to him, wagging his tail. Yeah, June's floor was going to get wet…and Neal would have to clean it when he realized the mud prints Satch was also leaving.

Once everything was clean and the dog was dried against Neal's protesting tremors, coughs, and tired, lazy movements, Neal wearily walked upstairs, dragging his feet to his own door. Satchmo lifted his head from his place in the kitchen. Neal glanced his way and sighed, shaking his head.

"That was not very nice of you, Satch." He paused and walked over, kneeling in front of him. "What would your mother have said?" Satch tilted his head ever so slightly and Neal smiled softly, petting the dog's wet head. He then stood and trudged into his room where he changed his wet clothes and towel dried what was still wet. He then placed boxers and a white t-shirt on before collapsing onto his bed, huddling under the blankets to hopefully stop his chills. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

The next morning Neal thanked God he didn't have to go to work. It was Saturday and Neal's chills still racked his body along with his coughs, sniffles, and sneezes. Neal's tiredness had not improved with sleep. If anything it felt like it increased it. The cough was on its way to becoming snarky and haggard. It was a bit after 12 when Mozzie called, beckoning Neal to a mini MET art exhibit not out of his radius.

"_Neal. They're bringing the MET to you!" _Claimed Mozzie.

"I told you Moz, I'm really not feeling up to it."

"_It won't be for too long. It's not the whole MET. Just for a little while. You honestly can't miss out on some great art, can you?"_

"…Alright, alright I'll go…for a little while." Neal finally agreed. Mozzie sounded satisfied as he hung up the phone. Neal got dressed and headed down to the art show located in the park he'd been sitting at with Satchmo the day before. Mozzie met him there and the two exchanged glances. Mozzie studied Neal's sniffling, shaky form. Neal's suit wasn't as pressed and sharp and neither was he. His face was pale, expression long with eyes that resembled that of a sleepy doll.

"Well I can see why you said you weren't up to it." Mozzie complimented the pale faced conman. Neal nodded.

"Probably just a cold." Neal answered, shrugging. The two scoped the art show and for the next few hours Neal and Mozzie glanced at the art before them. Neal found ways to mask how he truly felt and was able to simply lean against something when he felt he couldn't go on anymore. His body shook with every short, rapid breath and the quickening beat of his heart. That progressed until about the last hour fell upon them. Mozzie was in the middle of speaking to Neal when Neal sat down dizzy from exhaustion. Mozzie looked his way and over to where Neal sat.

"You alright?" Mozzie asked through his sunglasses. Neal nodded, coughing. He noticed it was getting worse. He should have stayed home.

"Yeah…just need a moment." Neal said. Mozzie told Neal to go back home, which Neal didn't disagree with. He waved a cab, unable to walk back to his place, and fought his urge to sleep in the back of the taxi. Luckly he was successful and paid the driver before stumbling out and up toward his apartment. By the time he had finished climbing the stairs his lungs felt as though they were burning through his ribs for freedom. He gathered himself, muttering lightly through his thickening coughs and wheezes. Neal opened the door to a tail wagging Satchmo and closed it, resisting the urge to crash where he was standing. His vision blurred as he greeted Satch briefly, placing his hand to his chest as if it would help suppress his coughs or the pain in his lungs. When Neal finally made it to his bed, Neal just about fell over before Satch could follow him into the room. His consciousness whirled its way down the path of darkness.

Darkness first hit Neal as his eyes pried open followed by a harking cough which had progressed into a ghastly choke. He parted his lips, letting a slight sigh escape when the fit was over. He stared through the skylights on the ceiling, attempting to gather his bearings on the world around him. Neal opened and closed his mouth slowly, noticing how dry it was. He felt no will to move, no will to try. A rancid smell in the air jumbled his stomach, forcing Neal to turn onto his side and repel whatever he had left in his stomach. To his surprise there was already a splatter of vomit in its spot. Neal placed his arm around his torso weakly, blinking lazily through his drenched hair which now was weighed down enough to rest past his eyes. "Oh…" someone's voi-no…his voice whispered ever so coherently. His eyes slipped shut and Neal was unaware once more, slipping down into the darkened tomb.

Every time it seemed Neal was getting a grasp on what was around him, he would relapse upon himself. Now utterly confused, Neal's head moved side to side with the coughing and choking that accompanied it. What he didn't remember was hearing the phone ring, the dog lick his hand, urging him to rouse, The messages which spoke from the machine. They sounded like Mozzie. Throughout the rest of night Neal stayed helplessly oblivious from the world, disheveled as ever. He felt so hot, too hot, wet, sticky, confused. There was nothing but the urge t vomit, which had occurred several times over in the last few hours, which kept him in check with reality. He just felt so...tired…and weak. As the sun rose Neal's eyes fluttered open as he looked around him to find a pink glow illuminating the room around him. The fresh paint and rich clay smell which had once engrossed Neal's room morphed into a rancid stench from a pile of vomit on the other side of the bed. Dazedly Neal looked up from his spot sprawled on the bed as he heard the sound of his phone going off with Peter's preset tone.

"P…t'r…" He barely muttered, coughing. Neal wanted to get up and get to the phone…but he just _couldn't._ It was then Neal let his head fall with an exhausted and breathy exhale before slipping once again under the darkness.

Peter Burke had just returned from his vacation with El, which had gone very smoothly, very sweetly. In a way it was kind of worrisome for Peter counting that he'd received not one phone call from Neal or the bureau. He'd dropped Elizabeth back at home so she could unpack and do whatever it was she had to while Peter brought back Satchmo. Peter pulled up in front of June's gorgeous apartment and knocked at the door, waiting for Neal to answer the door. He heard Satchmo's distant barking but after a few knocks Neal didn't answer. Rolling his eyes and sighing, Peter hoped Neal hadn't run. However, he knew that Neal wouldn't leave Satchmo alone. Carefully Peter opened the door.

"Neal!" He called with a hint of annoyance and uncertainty. Why would Neal leave June's door unlocked? Peter climbed the stairs and he sound of barking grew. "Neal?" He called louder, knocking at the door as he put his ear up to it. Peter then opened the door and was greeted by Satchmo jumping and wagging his tail by his legs, letting out small whimpers of excitement.

"Satchmoooo!" Peter kneeled and petted his dog roughly, playfully. Satchmo licked his hands and jumped around underneath them. Peter grinned. "How's my boy?" He asked. "Did you watch Neal while we were gone?" Peter stood and Satchmo swarmed toward the trellis door, circling. Peter let him out to allow him to do his business. After, Peter slowly turned around and looked down the hallway toward Neal's room. "Neal?" He called again, starting toward the bedroom. Peter heard an ever so slight muffle followed by coughs through the silence of the apartment. As he got closer to the room Peter was greeted with a waft of a rancid, acidy stench. His eyes pinched together with concern as he walked faster into the room, feeling himself tense with concern and nervousness. Peter paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the image of his partner. Neal's hair was tossed against his forehead, sticking thickly with sweat. He was still in a suit, which was wrinkled beyond what Peter believed was possible for one of Neal's suits to be. His comforter was disheveled around him as Neal was positioned in an awkward, flailed tumble. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie was still loosely around his neck. Peter's eyes grew wide as he noticed another deep, hacking cough.

"Hey, Neal, are you alright?" Neal's eyes opened just so slightly Peter could barely make out the blue of his iris.

"Pt'r…" Neal sighed, picking up his hand toward Peter only for it to fall around his head. Peter kneeled, placing his hand on Neal's forearm, which was warm and shaking due to the coughs raking his body.

"Hey buddy, not feeling too well huh?" Peter asked softly and almost breathlessly, moving his hand from Neal's forearm to his forehead. Underneath Neal's clammy, drenched skin was an internal heat which was a strange characteristic for the conman. What Peter didn't feel was Neal's dizziness and confusion brought on by Peter's arrival. Neal felt the cool hand of his handler, partner, and friend. He slightly pressed against it, lifting his chin in attempt to press his forehead closer into the cool skin. A haze surrounded him as he blinked slowly, adjusting his dry mouth with attempt to swallow to ease the burning within his throat. He was slightly confused on why Peter was there, wasn't he away? Peter pulled his hand from Neal.

"Dn't….feel good, Pt'r…" Neal said, constantly coughing still. Peter nodded.

"I know, Neal." He said, concern lacing throughout his expression as he took in Neal's condition. The rancid stench still hung in the air and Peter stood, walking toward the end of the bed to look at the other side. Wincing with a somewhat grossed out expression, he saw Neal had vomited several times by the side of the bed. His concern grew. He knew Neal wouldn't have if it wasn't bad. Peter went back to Neal's side. "How long has this been going on?" He asked. Neal attempted to swallow again.

"What?" He answered dazedly, followed by another coughing fit.

"This." Peter said simply before taking the opportunity to fetch Neal some water from the kitchen, maintaining to keep calm. Once a large glass was filled, Peter headed back to the room in time to see Neal slump against the pillows, exhausted. He sat on the edge of the bed and held the glass to Neal's lips, willing for him to take sips.

"Common bud, you have to drink something." Peter said, tilting the glass. Neal drank hungrily. "Not so fast, you're going to choke." He said. Neal's throat welcomed the cool liquid as it glided down and soothed his aching throat. Soon enough Neal had finished the glass. He opened his eyes more.

"Aren't…you suppossta be on vacat'n?" He asked. Peter shook his head.

"Neal its Sunday, we got home an hour ago." He said. Neal nodded, sighing. He draped a hand weakly over his stomach as he coughed again and again. However, the water made him feel slightly better. Peter put his hand once again onto Neal's forehead to feel the temperature once again. He noticed Neal's lean into it. Neal's eyes slipped shut and Peter got up once again, removing Neal's loosened tie. "Hey…can you sit up for me?" Neal grumbled, his breath hitching as Peter helped him sit up. His head spun around him as Peter removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Neal felt his stomach rise toward his throat once again.

"Sick…gonna be sick." Neal's eyes widened, saliva beginning to coagulate in his mouth. Peter moved swiftly to get the waste basket and just in time to witness the reappearance of the water Neal had just washed down. Peter patiently waited before taking it from him. Neal collapsed back down, out of breath. Peter covered Neal's bare chest with the comforter before getting up.

"Where…you going?" Neal asked. He felt so much less like death with Peter around. He didn't want him to leave. Peter looked down with concern and pity, patting Neal's arm briefly.

"Just into the kitchen." He told Neal, getting another glass of water, a bowl, and a small towel. He returned to the room and soaked the towel in the bowl of cool water, ringing it out. "Learned this from Elizabeth." Peter spoke softly. He placed the towel on Neal's forehead and Neal relaxed. His eyes closed.

"Thnks'." Neal sighed ever so lightly. "thnks'…." His voice trailed off and his breathing leveled. Neal was asleep. Peter took the time to clean up Neal's mess on the other side of the bed, after letting Satchmo back in. He also checked Neal's bed to see no mess to clean and was thankful. When he was finished the room already smelt much better. Peter washed his hands and dried them, walking back in to check on his partner. Neal was still asleep luckily, looking pale and sunken. Peter leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed and sighed.

"Oh Neal…" He muttered. Peter felt entirely guilty. He'd noticed Neal wasn't feeling his best these last few days but he didn't know how long Neal had to lay there in such a way. Peter went to Neal's side and took the rag from his forehead, dipping it into the cool water as he placed it back onto its original spot. Peter then went back into the living room to where his dog was and looked down.

"Guess we'd better call El, Satch. I don't think we're going home today." Peter said, sitting down in the arm chair as he pulled out his phone to call Elizabeth. For the rest of the day Neal was pretty in and out of it. His coughing continued and his temperature was still high. Peter didn't want to leave Neal alone when it was time for the caretaker to get some sleep himself and so he went to go sleep on the chair in Neal's room in case Peter was needed. Not even one hour later Neal fought an invisible monster right in front of Peter, screaming from within his nightmare. Peter woke startled, pulling himself to his feet and over to Neal.

"Neal! Hey, Neal, you're alright, look at me. Neal." Peter said calmly, placing his hands reassuringly onto Neal's shoulders. Neal's eyes opened and wildly searched Peter.

"No! Nonono! Get off!" He yelled. Peter stayed his position until Neal stopped fighting, tiredly looking up through dazed eyes. "Pet'r…" He sighed raggedly. Peter kneeled and leaned against the bed on his forearms.

"You're fine." Peter said, smiling slightly. Neal began to cough, scrunching over to one side. Peter waited for the fit to surpass, allowing the man some space. When it was over Neal tiredly rested against the pillows, looking at Peter. "How are you feeling?" Peter whispered.

"I…Ifeel…likesicouldhousssannn.." Neal slurred, eyes fluttering closed. "Don…gonowhere…" He barely spoke before his breath evened out. Peter placed his hand again on Neal's head. Some of the perfuse sweating had stopped at last and he wasn't as hot has he was when Peter first arrived. However, if Neal's fever was still high in the morning, Peter would get the doctor to make a house call. Peter brushed a strand back into place on Neal's head, feeling a sense of protectiveness over the consultant. He then let out a breath slowly, looked around, and stood back up. A weary feeling draped itself over his eyes and Peter felt like crashing where he stood. However, he still managed to pull the chair he'd been previously sleeping on toward Neal's bed so he could place his head on Neal's mattress, that way if Neal woke again Peter would be able to get to him quickly or something. Placing his arms folded onto the bed, Peter dropped his head sideways into the cradle and fell asleep.

The sun was rising now and a soft golden glow could be seen throughout Neal's apartment. The light reflected onto the pale dullness of his sunken face, illuminating almost as if Neal was the picture of health. To the side of Neal was Peter, still curled at Neal's side, his head embedded into his arms. Satchmo still laid in the living room, sleeping away. Then after hours of facing darkness, Neal's clouded eyes opened to the world of golden glow with a soft intake of breath. He blinked, eyes searching in front of him. He still felt pretty horrid, but a little less. He could think more clearly now. Neal lazily looked around and turned onto his back, huffing slightly. Unclear of what happened the previous night, Neal tried to think back. He then turned his head to his left and saw a man sleeping. His hair stuck up at all means of defied gravity. Neal blinked again against the golden glow coming through glass windows behind the man. 'Peter?' Neal thought. Then he remembered how Peter had come and resurrected Neal from his grimy sickness.

"Peter?" Neal roused hoarsely. Peter's head snapped up followed by a loud intake of breath. He was met with the image of Neal's rare weak state looking back at him. However, the man looked much better than he had the previous night.

"Neal. Hey." Peter said as he slowly brought himself up fully into a sitting position in the chair he'd been sleeping in. "How do you feel?" Peter brought himself back, stretching out the disks in his back which protested against him.

"Better." Neal answered simply, clearing his throat. "What are you doing here, you're gonna get yourself sick." Neal said. Peter stretched out his arms.

"I put up with you this long, aren't I sick enough?" A humorous tone spoke. Peter then relaxed himself, sitting as he would normally. He then reached out his hand and placed it on Neal's forehead, noticing a lot of the heat had dissipated. He was still a bit warm, but not by much. Neal gazed at him.

"Peter I'm fine, I feel much better now." Neal said, earning a small smile from Peter. He was glad to see the younger man withstanding his efforts. That meant Neal was on track to recovery.

"Oh please, you've sick as a dog in bed for….How long?" Peter asked. "I tried asking you in your haze, but you were too far gone." Neal contemplated for a moment. He remembered the walk with Satchmo, the rain, the cold…

"The night you left I started not feeling well…then I had to leave the MET exhibition with Mozzie early because I-"

"You went with Mozzie when you were this sick? Do you have a death wish, Neal? I mean if I didn't come home for another few days you'd still be fermenting in God knows what." Peter said disapprovingly.

"Sorry Peter." Neal apologized. "I only wanted to go for a little while, then I was going to come back home."

"And what about Mozzie? He didn't say anything, do anything? Did he know you were sick?"

"Not that sick." Neal began to cough haggardly, crouching to one side again as he attempted to get the phlegm lodged in his throat. Peter backed out of the room and got Neal some water, walking in as Neal finished. Peter built up the pillows behind Neal and helped him sit up a bit before handing him the water.

"It's just that you have to be more responsible, Neal. I mean you could have gotten really, really sick." Peter said with a tone of worry. Neal stopped to again apologize. Satchmo's big black nose pushed the door open and the pooch trotted in, wagging his tail. Peter leaned down and began to pet him. Neal grew a small smile.

"Peter?" Neal asked. Peter looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for being here." Neal said. He truly meant it. Peter's expression softened.

"You're welcome partner." Peter smiled. Neal looked at the older man and his smile grew. He ceased petting Satchmo. "Now why don't we get you into the shower, you smell like something that's been stuffed in a trunk full of tuna and submerged in pickle juice."

"At least it's better than deviled ham." Neal commented. Peter placed a finger up toward Neal.

"Hey, unless you want to smell like it I suggest you not comment on my favorite food." Peter said, pulling blankets off of Neal.

**There it is! Hope you enjoyed it and thanks bunches for reading! :)**


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